


With a Thought

by severallifetimesago



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Post Season 4, this is a fever dream fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:51:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6071170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severallifetimesago/pseuds/severallifetimesago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is dead. Or so Sam thinks. Dean's not so sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With a Thought

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written while I was sick and feverish. The pacing's off, but it's something I just needed to get out. It's been pestering me in my dreams. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy.

Castiel is dead.

Or so Sam thinks. Dean's not so sure. 

"Cas! Get your feathery ass down here, you hear?" Dean continues shouting, his voice growing hoarse. Sam wonders if Dean knows this qualifies as prayer. 

"Dean, maybe he's busy," Sam suggests for the third time.

"He's not," Dean repeats. Then, softer, "He always comes when I call."

He sees worry flit across Dean's face as he slides into the driver's seat of the Impala. That unnerves him, just a little, because Sam doesn't really understand his brother's relationship with the angel. 

"Dean," Sam starts as he settles into the seat beside him, "he went up against an archangel. I hate to say it – "

"Then don't." Dean's voice is rough-edged steel. 

"We gotta consider all the possibilities here," Sam continues.

"Enough!" Dean slams his hand on the steering wheel, the smack resounding through the still, tense air between them.

Sam halts. Dean wouldn’t dare hit his _baby_. This is new; this is more than worry, it’s attachment. 

"We're gonna find him. I don't care how long it takes," Dean states. "He challenged Heaven and the angels for us, Sammy."

_For you_ , Sam thinks. He agrees anyway.

\-----

Dean is frantic. 

Cas can't be dead. They didn't even win. Lilith's dead; Lucifer walks the Earth. 

But Cas _tried_. Dean owes him this much.

Sam sleeps as Dean speeds to Chuck's house. He has no clue how to track a celestial being, but this seems to be as good a place to start as any.

The house is in disarray when they get inside. Chuck's drunk out of his mind, half-heartedly waving an angel blade in their direction. 

"Great, the Winchesters," he slurs. "You know, I'm not quite ready for round two."

"What the hell happened, Chuck?" Sam questions, kicking a piece of debris.

"Fucking archangels is what happened," he responds. He points at Dean with the sword. "Your angel left this."

Dean gingerly takes the weapon from his outstretched arm. He feels a surge of warmth crawl up his arm at the contact. The blade is practically vibrating with energy. The heat collects at the scar on his shoulder.

Dean swallows. "Where's Cas?"

"I dunno." Chuck shrugs. "They did _this_ to my house and then left."

"What do you mean, left?" Dean demands.

"They disappeared. Castiel was okay, last I saw." He blinks, cringing in pain, nearly falling over. "Wait, they're in Indiana. Monterey, Indiana."

"Now?" Dean allows himself to feel a sliver of hope.

"Well they were or are or will be; I can’t be more specific than that," Chuck answers.

"Fucking prophecies," Dean grumbles, nearly sprinting to his car.

"He meant thanks, Chuck," Sam clarifies, ever the gentleman.

Chuck shakes his head ruefully. "Yeah."

\-----

Dean won't stop at a motel, so Sam stretches out in the backseat. It's a tight fit, but it'll do. He's slept here plenty of times.

He dreams of Ruby and a cartoon depiction of the devil holding hands. It's almost comical, except it's not. All of it actually happened. Sam let Satan out of his prison. Sam drank demon blood and trusted a warped soul from hell. Sam broke the world. He started the apocalypse. 

He jolts awake. Dean's driving just shy of ninety, and he's gripping the angel blade so tightly his knuckles are white. 

"Where are we?" Sam asks, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"A little south of Indianapolis," Dean responds, teeth gritted. "We'll be there soon."

Their tires squeal around a bend. Sam winces. "Dean, we're no good to him if we're dead."

Dean's only response is to push the gas down harder.

\-----

Sam finally negotiates the wheel from Dean. His brother needs to sleep.

"We'll be there in two hours. Rest," Sam commands.

For once, Dean listens. It takes a while for his raging thoughts to calm, but soon he's out, clutching Castiel's sword in his hand like a lifeline.

In his dreams, he's shirtless, lying in Cas's lap. The angel has one hand in his hair, the other softly outlining the handprint on his shoulder. Each touch of his finger calms Dean. Dean closes his eyes, burrowing further into his lap. He grabs a handful of Cas's trench coat, practically purring.

"Dean," Cas rumbles. His hand cards through Dean's hair. "I – "

"What is it, Cas?" Dean asks when he pauses, gently sweeping a hand across his thigh.

"It's – " he stops again. "This is peaceful."

"Damn straight." Dean laughs. "Haven't felt like this in years."

"I've never felt like this." Cas looks fondly down at him, and Dean swears, his eyes are twinkling. "It's extraordinary. _You_ are extraordinary."

Dean basks in the praise. He brings Cas's hand to his mouth, placing a feather-light kiss on his palm.

Then, the moment is gone. He feels cold all over, and Cas seems to flicker above him. His eyes open wide. 

"You're close," Cas gasps. "Find me, Dean. Help me." 

Dean reaches for him, but it's too late. 

He awakens to find Sam staring down at him, the rear door wide open. The car's parked in the lot of a dingy motel. 

"Why the _hell_ are we stopped?" Dean exclaims, livid.

"We're in Monterey, Dean," Sam says, his voice annoyingly steady and words reasonable. "Chuck didn't tell us where Cas is."

"It's not a big town, man. We could search every building in thirty minutes," Dean responds tightly.

"Look, I figured we should strategize before possibly encountering an _arch_ angel," Sam snaps.

"We have Cas's sword, that's enough." Dean pauses, eyes wide. "Where's the sword? I was holding it when I fell asleep."

"Dude, it's on the floor. You must've dropped it." Sam's lips quirk in just a hint of a smile. Just like that, the tension between them diffuses.

Dean paws at the floor below him. His heartbeat slows when he touches the weapon. He feels the ghost of Cas's fingers against his arm, sees his soft smile. The next moment, an image flits across his eyes.

"A barn," Dean gasps. "He's in a barn." 

"What?" Sam questions as Dean bolts to the driver's seat.

"I'll explain on the way, Sammy, come on," Dean all but shouts, smacking the seat beside him.

\-----

Dean has never felt terror like he does when he sees Cas.

Another time, he supposes the angel's wings would be an awesome sight. They span nearly the length of the barn, the edges just brushing the walls. If Dean looks closely, he can make out brilliantly colored feathers shining through the blackened ones.

If Dean's honest with himself – which is rare, but often necessary – Cas already looks dead. He's covered in blood from head to toe, so much that Dean's not sure it's possible it could all be his. A faint, blueish light leaks from a wound on his abdomen. His wings are smoking, half-singed into the concrete floor.

"Dean!" Sam's already kneeling at Castiel's side, using his flannel to sop up the blood and make sense of his flayed flesh. 

It takes Dean a moment to realize he's been standing, frozen in place. It takes only another moment for him to stride across the room.

His hands run aimlessly over his angel's body, feeling for breaks and cuts, but knowing there are too many to fix. Though his eyes are open, he doesn't seem to notice the Winchesters crowded around him. 

"I don't know what to do," Dean admits, voice breaking. 

Sam stares at him, wide-eyed. "We should get him to a hospital, maybe?" He looks between Cas and Dean. "The door's big enough for the car. I'll get it."

He nods, eyes never leaving Cas. Sam runs out of the barn. Dean doesn't remember taking Sam's shirt and pressing it to the gash of Castiel's stomach, but his hands are now covered in blood. 

"Cas," he whispers. "What do we do?"

Then, quieter, "I don't want you to die." And it’s true.

Castiel inhales shakily. To Dean’s surprise, he weakly grips the hunter’s arm. His breathing is labored and inconsistent, but he somehow finds the strength to speak. 

"You-your," Cas coughs, "scar."

Since his resurrection, Dean’s only got one. Dean nearly rips the sleeve off his shirt in his struggle to reveal the handprint. “What do I do?”

“It has a piece of my grace.” Every word seems to be a struggle for Cas, breathless and broken. “Just…”

Castiel reaches his hand towards Dean and slots it over the handprint. Dean grunts at the sudden burning sensation, but doesn’t dare move. He sees the same bluish light leaving Cas’s stomach slink around his hand and travel to his neck. Dean has a moment of panic as it wraps around his neck like a noose, but it seems to absorb into the skin there. 

The pain fades and a sweet calm rushes over him. Dean watches, entranced, as the worst of Cas’s wounds zip closed. He’s left with minor cuts and bruises. Dean feels the breath he’s been holding release.

“Thank you,” Cas says, his whiskey-soaked voice returned. For a moment, all Dean can do is stare.

“Never do that again,” he commands, suddenly furious. 

“Alright,” he replies. Dean is aware that’s a lie; Castiel would risk his life again and again if Dean asked it of him.

It’s with that thought in his head that he surges forward and captures Cas’s lips in a rough kiss. Dean immediately licks into his mouth, tasting the faint tinge of blood but disregarding it. Cas is slow to respond and even slower to reciprocate with the same ferocity. Dean lets out a small moan when the angel’s tongue tentatively brushes his. 

They’re both breathless when they part. 

“That dream,” Cas begins, voice lower than Dean’s ever heard it.

Dean blushes like a teenager, remembering. “Yeah, it was, uh, nice.”

“I believe that is an understatement,” Cas whispers, brushing his lips along Dean’s jaw. Dean shivers at the barely-there touch. “I’d never felt such profound emotion.”

Dean doesn’t know how he makes that sound dirty, but Dean is now shifting uncomfortably in his jeans. He scrapes a hand through his angel’s hair, reveling in the way Cas’s eyes flutter closed. Castiel’s tongue is tracing a path down his throat, and Dean’s not sure how long he can keep from pouncing on him. 

He wonders if Sam’ll come before then.

Dean pulls back, flustered. “I have your sword.”

He takes it out, brandishing it to the angel, hilt first. Cas’s eyes light up at the sight, but Dean’s reluctant to part with it. “It kinda helped me find you, I think,” he says.

“How so?” He looks confused.

“When I touched it, I saw this place, just for a second,” Dean responds, gesturing at the barn. “And it makes the handprint feel hot.”

“That’s peculiar,” Cas states after a moment, turning the sword over in his hands. “There’s a fragment of my grace in this blade in addition to your scar. Perhaps…well, it must have reached out to you, Dean.”

Dean knows that’s not normal from the way he’s staring at him. “Yeah?” he questions weakly. “What does that mean?”

“It means I am irreversibly attached to your soul.” Dean nearly chokes. Without warning, Castiel slots his hand over the print on his shoulder. “Remarkable,” he breathes, eyes wide. “My grace is still there.”

“What?” Dean doesn’t know what any of this _means_.

“When I pulled you from the Pit,” he starts, still sounding awestruck, “a piece of your soul must have merged with my grace. It seems you launched yourself from hell of your own volition and reached for me.”

Cas is giving him that look that he sometimes does, like Dean is the most astonishing being he’s ever encountered. Dean can’t meet his eyes.

He swallows. “So what you’re saying is I wanted out, even after I got off the rack?”

“Yes. That’s the reason that my grace reached for you. It recognized itself threaded around your soul. And that’s why it remains.” Then Castiel’s kissing him, harder than before, to which Dean responds immediately.

“That mean I get to keep this?” Dean asks when they part, taking the blade from where it’s still clutched in Cas’s hand. “For if I can’t find you again, I mean.”

“I suppose I could manufacture another.” Cas cocks his head to the side. “Not with my grace, of course.”

“Who’s would you use?” Dean doesn’t know the extent of the consequences after what Cas did for him, but he knows the possibility of another angel giving Cas a blade is unlikely.

“I still possess influence over some angels.” Dean swears he sees Cas square his shoulders and puff up his chest a little.

Dean laughs, leaning closer to give him a quick peck on the lips. His heart races a little, because that’s something he can just _do_ now. 

Just then, the impala slides through the open barn doors, stopping just inches from Dean’s fingers. Sam jumps out of the car.

“Man, what took you so long?” he teases, a smile growing on his face. “Had to fix him myself.”

He sees Castiel roll his eyes in his peripheral. 

“The hell?” Sam’s frown is a smear across his face. Dean stands, offering a hand to Cas. He pulls him to his feet, catching him as he stumbles. Sam’s confusion has only grown, his eyebrows nearly lost in his hairline.

“Calm down. We’ll tell you in the car.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
